Dec 30, 2006

Dec 28, 2006

Yes, there is a connection between these two. Let me start by saying that I am a very empathetic person - an overly empathetic person. I know that if more people read this blog, I might have to face a bunch of criticism. I know that what I am about to say will probably sound crazy. This story upsets me. I know that what he did was awful - beyond anything I could imagine, but he is still a human being. My husband and I talked about this at dinner tonight. I asked him if I was wrong for feeling bad for Hussein - he said "yes."

My husband does not understand why I am so sympathetic/empathetic. Neither do I. It's just the way I am. I was embarassed to admit this, but I told him that when I was a little girl, 5 or 6 perhaps, I used to get very upset when I scraped my dinner plate into the garbage. Usually, I didn't eat all of my peas, and I thought that they had feelings. I thought they would feel unwanted/unloved if I threw them away. I used to tell them that I was sorry - I was only throwing them away because I was full and NOT because I didn't like them.

Sounds crazy, but I was very young. It's not like I do that now.

So I had sympathy for my peas, and I have sympathy for Saddam Hussein. Maybe this does make me sound crazy, but I can't apologize for who I am.

Dec 23, 2006

Very few people in my life know that my ultimate dream (aside from running away with "Greg Sanders" from CSI and living a nerdy life in Las Vegas) is to write/publish a novel. I have been reading books since the age of four and have been writing stories, poems, etc. since I was in 3rd grade. I am the ultimate Grammar Geek and love, love, love "Eats Shoots & Leaves." If you have not read this book, please do.

Anyway, I have been "writing" novels in my head for years - while taking a shower, driving to and from work, eating breakfast by myself. I have started a book - there's my big secret. Well, my husband knows, and only one person reads this, so it isn't much of a secret.

My problem is that I have the whole story in my head. I have characters. I compose dialogue while I brush my teeth and fold laundry. I have a tentative title (which I will not reveal at this point). I have even gone as far as writing notes, but I have yet to sit down and write. I find all kinds of excuses - too tired, too much laundry/cleaning, working on other projects, etc. Knowing and understanding my passion for writing, my father gave me a book about the actual act of writing and how we can overcome our mental obstacles. I have learned that I have a fear of rejection. I have a horrible case of perfectionism. The thought that runs through my head regularly is, "Who the hell am I to write a novel?" The best thing I have learned from this book is this:

Dec 22, 2006

It was so foggy last night that the enormous eyesore that Walmart is was not even visible - and it's a "Super" Walmart, so you can imagine the amount of light this thing gives off.

The fog reminded me of the night back in 1995 when I drove 27 miles on country roads through really awful fog. Visibility was only 1/16 of a mile and no one wanted to pass me, so I had to be the lead car. By the time I got home, my arms were totally sore from tensing up while I drove.

Dec 21, 2006

Today marks the 6-month anniversary of my aunt's death. It still does not seem like she died. I still see her picture and shake my head in disbelief - like somehow, I imagined the whole thing. But I didn't. And she is gone.

One of these days I will sit down and write more about her, and all of the amazing things she did for me over the years - the impact that she has had on my life. But for now, here is a picture:

Dec 12, 2006

On Saturday, my husband and I went to Chicago for the One of A Kind Show and Sale at the Merchandise Mart. My sister was involved in the show and we went for support and to see if there were any cool gifts we could buy for the holidays (and all of the December b-days in my family).

To make a long story short, the show was great, my sister was successful, and we had a good time walking up and down Michigan Avenue.

Something interesting/funny happened while we stayed at the Hard Rock Hotel - aside from the couple in their mid-forties who attended a holiday party at the hotel and passed out in front of their room covered in vomit. No, it was funnier than that. On Sunday morning, we had breakfast, checked out of the hotel, and asked for the valet to get our car. As we pull away from the hotel, my husband asked, "What happened to your pretzels?" Let me backtrack for a minute - about half way through our 3 hour drive, we stopped to get some snacks. I got a $1 bag of pretzels. They were quite good, but I only had a few and I think my husband had a couple. Anyway, back to those damn valets - they ate my freakin' pretzels!!!Not only did they eat them, but they actually left the evidence in my car. The least they could have done was throw the bag away. I'm not really mad about it. I don't care about the $1 I spent on the stupid things, but come on guys. Buy your own freakin' pretzels!!!

Dec 2, 2006

I think I've lost faith. I believe in God (or some supreme power), but I don't think that prayer can heal or cure. I don't think miracles exist. I think that whatever God has planned is final. When my aunt was first diagnosed, we all prayed for her quick recovery. She responded to her treatment, and we all were thrilled and relieved, but things got bad again. Then they got worse, and we soon realized that we couldn't pray away her cancer. My grandma would say prayer after prayer after prayer, and mark them down on a sheet of paper - keeping track of how many she said each day, each hour. I couldn't look in her in the eyes - I felt like I knew a secret that she didn't. My aunt was not going to make it through this. She was not going to get better.

Maybe this is all a reaction to losing someone I loved very much to a disgusting, nasty disease. Maybe after some more time passes I won't feel this way.

What was the point of her getting cancer, fighting it so hard, and then dying? Was she supposed to learn something profound in those 8 short months? Were we? All I learned was to be incredibly fearful of cancer. I learned that having faith doesn't make a difference. I learned that the only people who believe in miracles are those whose stories have a happy ending. The rest of us just stop believing. Or at least I have stopped believing.

I should be cleaning out the dishwasherI should be putting away the fall decorations and replacing them with Christmas onesI should be folding laundryI should be organizing the MESS in the spare bedroomI should be doing something constructive

Instead, I'm sitting at the computer, typing away, listening to music, and wishing that I didn't have to do any of the above activities. I'm home alone, which is nice, but there's no one to talk to.I enjoy the holidays, but am not really looking forward to them this year. My family is dealing with a lot right now and it doesn't seem like anyone's heart is into this season. I think we're all looking forward to January - a new year, a fresh start.

I'm dreading going to church on Christmas Eve. Being the only Catholic in my new family, it looks like I will be going by myself. I know I'm going to cry and I would really like someone to go with me. It might help me tone down the tears.

Tonight we're decorating the Christmas tree and making a gingerbread house. At least that's something to look forward to...

About Me

I'm a mother, grant writer, and aspiring author born and raised in the Midwest. What began as a way for me to journal the daily grind of life, this blog has morphed into my journey to become a published author. Join me as I find my way through this crazy process.